Living Through the Pain of the Broken-Hearted

At around age 5 or 6 my house was always full, every room you turned into you would find someone. My mom and dad weren’t married but they were together for as long as I can remember. Before my mom and dad met, my dad had 7 other children by 4 different women; indicating he was not the one to stay in one bedroom for a long period of time. By the time I was born he claimed my mother to be the love of his life. And its not hard for me to say that in the day she was, but at night after dinner my dad would walk out the house and into the bar a single man. 

My mom and I were inseparable. I loved her so much! Everything about her was beautiful from the inside out. And she was just so funny! She could turn anyone’s day around-- and maybe even light up the room with her big beautiful smile that would spread her cheeks from ear to ear. We did everything together: we went out to eat, shopped, watched movies, cooked, etc. 

My dad was never a good father figure. My mom was always my support system. She made it her goal to instill the memory of her saying “You can be anything you want Dore” or even “Good job baby, i’m proud of you” in my mind. She was always at every report card pick-up, every track-meet, every dance. I always wanted to make her proud; she was my motivation to do above and beyond. She was such a good mom and so dedicated to giving me the life every child deserved and today I honestly regret not thanking her more. 

In 2014, my mother was at work and for some odd reason she came home early. It turns out that her legs suddenly began to feel numb. First, she thought that she was standing too long at work, so she decided to take a couple days off. As time ascended her condition started to worsen. I was horrified when her legs began to swell! Eventually, she decided to drive herself to the emergency room, Advocate Trinity Hospital. We sat there for hours. I don’t remember them running any test or anything, just them giving her some medicines, a prescription, and a theory that she should expect results in the next few days. We went home and she took the medicine as instructed, nothing changed.    

My mother and I ended up revisiting the emergency room about 2 weeks later, and after she told them what she was experiencing they decided to admit her until they found the problem. I was so relieved when they took that extent, but at the same time I was scared. I was in fifth grade so I couldn’t be with her all day everyday so I was worried out of my mind. I would always call her, and I’d even go straight to the hospital after school—thanks to my social studies teacher, Ms. Harris, who would give me rides. My dad wasn’t really bothered by her being in the hospital and he didn’t really help a lot with her. She stayed in the hospital for about a week, and although they still didn’t find a diagnosis or the condition they sent her home with more meds. This time when she left the hospital she wasn’t able to walk out herself, this time I had to accelerate a wheelchair to my dad’s 2001 green ford truck.

The meds weren’t helpful. When she came home she was sleeping on the couch due to her not being able to climb the stairs, and no one was really able to help her move around due to my father being M.I.A., plus everyone was grown and moved out. So,  I would come home and cook for her, lift her to take her to the bathroom, lift her from the toilet and wipe her, stand her up to wash her, do her hair, and still have to do my homework. This routine was every day. I would even sleep downstairs with her just in case she had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. For a long period of time I was the only one helping her, at just 9 years old. My mom’s excessive suffering finally grabbed my dad’s attention and he began to be at home more, cook, help me with lifting her, and even getting her to her doctor’s appointments.

One day at about 3 am she woke me up and told me could barely breathe and could hardly swallow so she called the ambulance. I got up and began to put on our clothes. We got into the van and was headed to Trinity again. They finally told us that they didn’t have the necessary equipment to find the problem so they sent her to Holy Cross Hospital where she stayed for weeks, and then again transferred to Northwestern Hospital. Here, they thought that she had nerve damage, so their solution was that she have surgery in her left arm. She was in a lot of pain and becoming more and more paralyzed. Weeks went by and she was still having the same trouble she had before, plus only being able to use one arm now. Eventually they diagnosed her with Deep Vein Thrombosis, aka blood clots, which needed to be treated rapidly since the disease was spreading to her lungs. 

I tried to be with my mom as much as I could with my mom. We would talk every day: before school, recess, and after school. April 28, 2015, I called my mom as soon as I woke up, around 7:30 am, to tell her good morning and after a while she told me “Get dressed before you’re late. I love you. Call me when you’re walking.” And I responded “Okay. I love you too mommy”, we hung up and I began to get dressed. After I got off the phone with her I was just having a bad morning…I knew the day just was going to be off, I could feel it. Once I was headed out of the door, at approximately 8:35 am, I must’ve called my mom about 3 times and received no answer. So being as worrisome as I am, I kept calling until I received an answer. I must’ve called about 2 more times then finally got a response. Though it was one of my mom’s nurses, she said “Your mom is using the restroom honey she’ll call you back shortly.”, and this was so weird to me because why couldn’t my mom speak for herself? I just responded “Okay.”

I tried to tell myself that she was just using the bathroom and everything was okay but deep down in my little 5th grade mind, I knew something wasn’t right. From the moment I walked into Schmid Elementary doubled-sided doors I couldn’t think of anything but my mom. Halfway through the first class the office calls into room 102 “Ms. Pollard can you release Jadore for an early dismissal?”, she quickly responded “Okay”, then asked me was everything alright being that it was only 9:30 am. I responded “I’m not sure.” I walked out of the classroom and saw my father standing at the front security desk with my Aunt Kathy. This was severely strange to me because my dad has never even given stepped foot into my school, and today he was getting me an early dismissal? I put on my jacket and packed my book bag, walking towards them I began to ask, “Why do I have to leave early?”, and got no response. I began to notice the sorrow in my aunts face and the tears dropping down my dad’s cheeks. I began to get really anxious. 

As we were leaving out of the doors I kept asking questions, “Why are you crying daddy?”, still no response. Then I continued to ask a series of questions as I noticed we were going in the opposite direction of the house. My dad turned around and looked at me wiping the tears from his face and said “We’re going to the hospital Dore, your mom died.” My heart broke into a million pieces. I began to scream, cry, and kick. My aunt pulled over, so her and my dad could comfort me. After a while I calmed, but tears still rushed down my face uncontrollably. 

This ride was the longest ride of my life. When we got there, I saw nearly all of my sisters standing outside of my mom’s room, everyone was either had tissue in their hands or sniffling their noses. I ran into the room, and saw my mom laying in the bed…lifeless with faint blood on her pillow next to her mouth. After I was able to talk I finally asked how it happened, my dad told me that “She was being fed by her nurse and she gave her too much food at once and she ended up choking on her own blood and died.” I remember I was so angry with the world. I was angry with my mom for leaving me. .It was so hard to take in; the person I was closest too, my best friend… gone forever.